Cursed
by Blue Kangaroo
Summary: "This? This is what I feel every day. Pain." A short, slightly dark fic based off of one or two "missing scenes" from episode 7x13 in the White House, and what I think should have been said.


**Title:** "Cursed"

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** I own the DVD's, but don't own the show or its characters. I write fanfic purely for entertainment.

**Summary:** This is another of my "missing scenes" ficlets. This one takes place during Season 7 episode 13 at the White House. Jack is sitting next to Bill Buchanan's body, and Renee asks if he's okay. I think that the writers missed an opportunity to say a few things there (after their hospital scene earlier in the day), so I took matters into my own hands again.

* * *

**Cursed**

In stark contrast to the chaotic melee of noise that had filled the building earlier, now this wing of the White House was eerily silent. The acrid smell of gunpowder lingered strongly in the air, and broken glass crunched underfoot as Renee Walker made her way through the hallways with a team of FBI agents. Lights flickered crazily overhead, emitting strobe-like flashes but providing very little actual light. An agent behind Renee produced a flashlight from his jacket pocket and shone it around, inspecting their surroundings.

As they rounded a corner, Renee stopped and turned to the agent next to her. "Carson, go ahead without me. I'll catch up with you later." Without comment, the man nodded. Once the team had disappeared from view, Renee doubled back and walked down the corridor that they had bypassed.

Jack Bauer was sitting motionless on the tiled floor, oblivious to Renee's presence or anything else. She cleared her throat quietly, and Jack's head jerked up. "What are you doing here?" Renee asked. He stared at her dully, saying nothing. There was a jagged gash above his right eye. "You're bleeding," Renee said, concerned.

Jack brought his fingers to his forehead, and they came away red with blood. His face registered no emotion. "It's not important."

"It looks pretty nasty," Renee countered. "You should have a doctor look at it."

Jack shook his head more firmly. "It's fine." His answer was immediate and adamant. Unconsciously, he rubbed the gnarled, burned, scarred skin on the back of his right hand.

Combined with the brief glimpse of the horrific array of scars on Jack's back that Renee had gotten when she had interrupted his changing that morning, that small gesture told what his words did not. His refusal had nothing to do with stubbornness or pain tolerance. Renee had read accounts of Chinese labor camps and prisons and the methods of torture that were favored. Standard medical tools were transformed into instruments of terror.

Renee started to speak, but was interrupted by Larry Moss's voice echoing over her comms headset. "Renee, the rest of your team is with me and President Taylor. Where are you?"

"I'll be right there." Renee glanced at Jack. "I'll – "

He shook his head. "Go. I'll be fine." Reluctantly, she turned to go.

Taking a deep breath, Jack got to his feet.

He entered an atrium filled with milling FBI and Secret Service agents, and spotted a man in a medical uniform bandaging Aaron Pierce's arm. "As soon as I'm finished here, I'll help you," the man said over his shoulder, handing Jack a square of gauze. "Hold that on your forehead for now." He turned back to Aaron and finished wrapping his shoulder in gauze and tape. "There you go, Agent Pierce." Aaron nodded curtly, gingerly eased his arm into a sling, and walked away, already intent on his next mission.

"I'm Dr. Paul Kerr." The doctor motioned to Jack. "You're my umpteenth patient of the evening. It's rather like being on the ER weekend shift," he said wryly and somewhat wearily. "What do you have for me? A gunshot wound? Shrapnel? Glass? Blunt force trauma?" Jack eyed him, unsure, and Paul Kerr nodded and instantly became serious. "Okay, got it. Let me have a look at that wound."

Jack tried not to look at the assortment of medical supplies as he sat down on the folding canvas stretcher and removed the square of gauze from his forehead.

Dr. Kerr looked at him for a long moment. "You have acid burns on your hand, a burn scar on your neck that either came from hot metal or an electrical current, and I'd bet that there are others elsewhere. Mind my asking where they came from?"

"You could call it restitution," Jack replied curtly and quietly, not meeting his gaze.

The doctor arched an eyebrow, but remained silent.

Dr. Kerr gently examined the bleeding gash on Jack's forehead. "This is deep and ugly. I can suture it, or I can try to close it with butterfly strips. Either way, you're going to have another scar to add to your collection. Which will it be?"

He saw Jack's barely concealed shudder. "Butterfly it."

"All right. I need to clean it up a little. I'll try not to hurt you." Jack nodded, saying nothing.

He felt none of the sharp, stinging pain of the antiseptic that was dabbed onto the wound, or the poking and prodding as Dr. Kerr worked to close the jagged gash. After everything, he was beyond feeling.

"There. All finished." Jack nodded silently and pushed himself upright.

Paul Kerr watched Jack walk away. He had seen that expression before, on battered soldiers returning from war. Jack's eyes were dull, blank, and eerily void of feeling.

As Paul cleaned up his supplies, he thought about the quiet, serious man and wondered what had happened to cause his pain.

-o-o-o-o-

Jack was moving on autopilot. He didn't remember leaving Dr. Kerr and making his way through the silent corridors of this wing of the White House, and yet he had. He found himself in the doorway of the dimly lit lockdown room, staring down at the broken glass, spent bullet casings, and yellow forensic evidence tags that littered the floor.

Another yellow tag had been placed by his outstretched hand, but Bill Buchanan's body had yet to be moved.

Jack sat down hard on the floor, his back to the doorframe. He fought against rising nausea as he looked at Bill's motionless form. _This is not right._

"Jack?" Numbly, he lifted his head. _Renee. _She was standing in the doorway, watching him. "One of the TAC agents saw you come this way. What are you doing here?" He shrugged.

Renee glanced at Bill. "He seemed like a good man."

"He was." Jack's voice was hoarse.

"I-I'm sorry." It was inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say.

She hesitated. "Dr. Kerr told me that he'd treated you." Briefly, Jack wondered what else the doctor had told her. "Are... Are you okay?"

"You asked me if I felt anything," Jack said hollowly. "This morning, at the hospital with Marika, you slapped me and asked if I felt it." Renee nodded.

He looked at Bill's still form. "This is what I feel every day. Pain."

Renee lowered her gaze.

Jack looked at her. "You read my file. Does it say anything about Audrey and what happened to her?" Renee nodded silently. "Her father told me that I'm cursed. Everyone that I come close to either winds up scarred and damaged, or dead."

"Jack, I — "

He shook his head. "I didn't want to believe it. But almost everyone I've known and loved is either hurt or dead, so now I know it's true."

Renee bit her lip, saying nothing.

Jack got to his feet, slowly. "There's your answer. I felt that slap. I felt everything." His voice was so quiet that Renee almost didn't hear him. "I _am_cursed."

_-End-_


End file.
